


Trees and Cotton

by dearren



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, I Am Not Even Sorry, M/M, Pain, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Season/Series 02, Rickren, i love being in pain, rick macy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:37:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearren/pseuds/dearren
Summary: It had been two months. Two months and three days, to be exact. Two months and three days since the funeral. Two months and three days since Kieren had last felt alive. Or as alive as he could feel, anyways. Two months and three days. That was a long time. That was no time at all.





	Trees and Cotton

It had been two months. Two months and three days, to be exact.

Yet, it didn’t feel like any time had passed at all. All those days that lay between now and then were lost. Lost in a haze of indifference, days and nights breaking and passing, unnoticed, uncared for. It was almost spring now but the sun didn’t stand much of a chance against the closed blinds. Inside the room, time held no meaning. Time did not pass. Time passed too fast.

When the phone rang downstairs, he didn’t hear. He didn’t see the door to his room open or his mother enter. He didn’t notice the mattress sink where she sat down. He didn’t feel his mother’s hand cupping his own. He hadn’t for a long time.

“Dear, it’s for you.”

“What?” It was the first time in days he had spoken aloud, his voice rough and tired. He didn’t look at his mother, his unseeing eyes fixed on the ceiling instead. Maybe she looked sad. Maybe she didn’t

Instead of responding, his mother left, leaving the phone on his bedside table.

The door closed. He was alone apart from the person on the phone. An inexplicable rush of anger had Kieren curl up into himself, burying his face in his hands. He wanted to throw the phone, hear the sound of the plastic breaking against the wall, ending whatever sick joke this must be. Who would call him? No one had called him in weeks. Eight weeks and almost four days.

Muffled by his pillow that he was pressing his head into, Kieren could hear a faint voice coming from his bedside table. He tried to ignore it. If only he closed his eyes for long enough, when he opened them again it would all have been a dream. The voice was still there. A familiar voice.

In a matter of seconds, Kieren was sat upright holding the phone in his hands. He stared at the display, at the name written in black against a greenlit background. Four letters. His heart hurt. It was the first time in weeks that he felt anything. And yet it was, what he always felt. He brought the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?” Kieren said.

“Kieren? Hello. Kieren, this is Mrs – Janet. It’s Janet. Janet Macy.”

“Hello” was the only thing Kieren could manage.

“Oh, dear. I… I hope it’s alright for you that I called. I didn’t – I mean, I thought I ought to.” Kieren heard Mrs – Janet exhale, almost a sigh, before continuing: “It’s just, that I am moving. Soon. In a few days, actually. And I – I feel like it’s only right if, if… “

Kieren’s world had started to spin. If it could, his heart would beat frantically. If he dared, he would cry. Neither happened. He just sat on his bed, holding the phone against his ear. On the other side, Janet asked if he was okay.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

\-----

Kieren stood at the front door of the Macy’s. He tried to remember ending the call, getting up from his bed and down the stairs, telling his mum he would be going on a walk and then making his way here, arriving at this house that he’d spent so much time at. This house, that he despised with everything that he was.

But when he tried to reach for those moments that had just merely passed, there was nothing. Only darkness in his mind, blurred pictures with no distinction between memory and imagination, between reality and dream. Between dream and nightmare.

Before he could dwell on it, the door in front of him swung open and he was confronted with a shadow of a woman he had once known. An abstract idea of Janet Macy stood in front of him, frail and dishevelled, dark circles underneath empty, glassy eyes that used to be bright with sympathy, bright with kindness. He tried to find any kind of familiarity in them, anything at all. He was met by his own reflection in them. And pain. So much pain.

And then Kieren was hugging her, his arms around her bony shoulders.

“I’m sorry” she sobbed into his shirt.

“No, I’m sorry” Kieren exclaimed, calmly. “I am so, so sorry, Janet.”

\-----

The house was a mess. Cardboard and clear plastic boxes littered the floor, belongings haphazardly stuffed into them or seemingly thrown into their general direction. Only a few of the boxes were packed, some of them almost neatly. There was nothing written on the outside, indicating the contents.

Kieren followed Janet upstairs, his eyes trained on the boxes closest to the entryway. Through the milky plastic material, a familiar face in a frame smiled at him. A black ribbon was draped over one of the corners of the photograph.

“I’ve not been inside yet. Not yet.” Janet explained as they climbed the rest of the stairs, the box and the photograph escaping Kieren’s periphery. “There have been enough other things to do around the house, I just haven’t found the time. Not yet.” Janet’s words didn’t all register with Kieren, who was staring intently at the wooden door behind which his best friend’s bedroom lay. It suddenly hit him, that he hadn’t been there for years.

He knew that Janet had put her hand on his shoulder but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from that door. Not yet.  
“I’ll leave you to it, then. Take whatever you want. I don’t want it.”

Kieren didn’t notice Janet leave. He didn’t know how long she had already been gone for before he moved to open the door. Inside his mind, he had already entered. If into a dream or a memory or something else completely, he wasn’t sure.

\-----

He saw a sun flooded, small room, ever so tidy. The smell of the forest and fresh laundry hung distinctly in the air. Birds were chirping outside. A lovely day. Kieren smiled as he took it all in. The framed jersey on the wall, the trophies carefully arranged on the shelf. A clean desk with a stack of books on one side, a lamp on the other. The bed with its grey covers had just been made. And on the bed sat his friend, welcoming him inside. 

“Did you tidy up just to impress me?” Kieren teased, flopping down on the floor in front of the bed. 

“As if I needed to impress you.” Rick retorted, a laugh hiding just beneath the surface of his words. Kieren casually leant against Rick’s legs as he began to talk about something that had happened at school or something his sister had done or about his art club or something completely. The birds were chirping outside. At some point, Rick had begun to absent-mindedly run his fingers through Kieren’s hair whilst listening to him talk. Kieren felt warm in the sun and warm under Rick’s touch. He closed his eyes.

\----

There was no sun. Clouds had hidden it behind thick, impenetrable layers of grey. Dust rendered the trophies dull. The desk was a mess of papers and books and a duffel bag was stuffed carelessly underneath it, clothes strewn around in apparent disregard. The bed was unmade.

He had feared that it would feel weird. That it would be as if Rick was just somewhere else in the house, about to come back. As if he had just slept in his bed. That it would feel like no time had passed. That if Kieren turned around, there he would be, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk on his lips and blue eyes beaming at him, full of light. Full of life. 

But it didn’t feel like that.

The room felt dead, empty, heavy. Kieren could not catch the slightest remnants of the smell of trees and clean cotton. Part of that made it bearable, almost easy to stand there, to look at all the lifeless remains of a life. Part of it made it so much worse.

Because part of Kieren had hoped. He had longed for something, to step into a sun-flooded room and be hit by a familiar scent and for melancholy and grief to bring him to his knees. But this was just a room, now. Rick hadn’t lived here in years.

Kieren closed the door behind him.

He let his fingers brush along the wooden walls as he slowly made his way. He let his eyes wander, he let them linger on the framed jersey. His mind reached for some not too distant memories of watching football matches in the afternoon, of cheering when his best mate scored, of flushed cheeks and shared laughter. But he couldn’t. There was no distinct day that came to mind, only snippets, pieced together like in the movies. A montage of a life that belonged to neither of them anymore.

When he reached the desk, his eyes fell upon the clutter of papers. Letters, he noted. Kieren sat down at the desk, reaching for the letter closest to him. He recognised the writing. It was his own handwriting. His own words. He looked at the pile of ripped envelopes, crumpled-up pages. Some of the words on his letters were smudged. 

 

“Rick,  
I know, I know. You’ve only been away for two months and this is already the sixth or so letter I wrote you. Pathetic, haha. But anyways. Things are pretty good, here. The results of the art contest are in and my piece was rewarded with the second prize!! I couldn’t believe it. Thought they must’ve mixed something up. You were right, I guess. Should try stuff like that more often. It’s quite nice to be appreciated. But who am I telling that to.

Oh, and I saw your mum yesterday and she says hi. She’s gonna send you a care package by the end of the month. Thought I should let you know in case it’s not cool to get mail from your mum when you’re a soldier. Again, I don’t think it’s cool to get letters from me like every other day, either. I’ll try and write less often. Promise.

Miss you.  
Ren.

PS.: If you’ve already had the time to send a letter back, I’ve not received anything? Guess it’ll come sooner or later.

PPS.: I swear, I’m not mad anymore. I am sorry for what I said in the first few letters. But that’s in the past. I just wanted you to know that. What’s important now is, that you stay safe. We’ll sort anything else out when you’re back”

 

Kieren couldn’t think of how Rick could have obtained those letters. Maybe Janet had had something to do with that. Not like it mattered. He knew what those letters said, or some of them anyway and he was not too keen on reading back all the horribly unfair things he had written to his mate. 

Putting the letter back down, Kieren got up from the chair. His gaze fell upon the bin next to the desk. What had caught his attention was a small envelope, not crumpled or ripped open like the others. When he turned the envelope over, seeing his own address written in Rick’s soft hand, Kieren half expected himself to react. To snap out of this dream-like daze. Instead, he felt weirdly detached, like he had for the past two months. Two months and four days, to be exact.

Kieren carefully opened the envelope as he sat down on the floor in front of the bed, leaning against it. Flashes of something entered his mind. Reality and fiction and Kieren couldn’t tell them apart. He started to read the letter to him.

 

“Ren,

I know I fucked up. I did. I’m not writing to ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve that. I never deserved that. You can hate me, that’s fine. Good, even. Because that means you’re moving on with your life and that’s all I ever wanted. For you to move on from this damned place and I suppose from me, too. I don’t even know why I am writing you at all.

We’re done at the training facility now. Tomorrow, it’s going to be the real deal. All the boys say they can’t wait to shoot some terrorists in the head. Guess that’s what we’re here for, after all. But I’m scared, Ren. I’m fucking scared. 

I don’t know if you will ever even receive this or if you do, maybe you’ll just throw it in the bin where it should go. I kinda hope you don’t ever read this. I’m so stupid. Going away to give you a chance and here I am, trying to … I don’t know what this is, to be honest. 

Tomorrow, it’s all gonna be different. It’s gonna be real. Fuck.

I miss you. I hope you don’t read this.

I might die out there. Would you care? You would, wouldn’t you? I don’t want you to but you would care if I died, right, Ren? 

Please don’t read this.

I love you.

I’m sorry.  
Rick x.”

 

Time was passing. All at once, time passed. Days, rushing by, weeks and months, hours and seconds and amidst all of it, stark against the blur, pain. All that existed was that unbearable pain of knowing. The insufferable possibilities. The intolerable longing. The excruciating realisation of all that could have been. If only.

Finally, Kieren broke.

\-----

Janet Macey sat beside him, her arm around his shoulders as he shook uncontrollably. She must have heard him scream.  
She didn’t say anything and he was glad for it.

When his cries finally subsided and tears stopped blinding him, Kieren looked up at Janet who smiled weakly at him. She looked at the letter the boy held clutched in his hand.

“He loved me” Kieren whispered.

“I know,” said Janet. “He really did.”

\-----

“Is it really okay with you if I take this?” Kieren asked, uncertainty and guilt mixing inside him as he followed Janet to the front door. In his hands, he held one of the smaller cardboard boxes.

The rest of the afternoon had been spent by Kieren and Janet sorting through Rick’s belongings together. Again and again, she had reassured him that he could take with him whatever he desired to. That she didn’t need anything to remember her son by. But Kieren longed for something, anything.

In the box were photographs of him and Rick that Janet had discovered while cleaning out the wardrobe, tucked away in a sock drawer. Sorting through them, Kieren had told her about the camera that Rick had gotten him for his birthday. Rick must have kept some of them for himself when he had gotten the film developed because most of these Kieren had never even seen before. It made them both smile fond, teary-eyed smiles.

He had also taken the letter Rick had never sent him.

Under Rick’s bed, Kieren had discovered a flat cardboard box that held almost all the drawings Kieren had ever given Rick over the course of their years of friendship as well as remnants of the mixtape Bill Macy had broken in rage and banned Kieren for. Upon seeing the destroyed CD, Janet had started crying. Kieren suspected that she didn’t cry out of grief this time. He did.

Kieren had also taken Rick’s favourite book – a collection of the complete adventures of Sherlock Holmes – which Rick had not only read but also marked his favourite passages in, written notes on the pages and put sticky notes with ideas in. “I didn’t even know he still had that” Janet had exclaimed, thumbing through the pages, softly. “I used to read these to him when he was still a young boy.” But then she had handed it over to Kieren, determined.

The last thing had been the duffle bag. Rick had never even gotten around to even unpack it. When Kieren reached for the bag under the desk, he found himself hesitating. And then he grabbed the bag and pulled it into the middle of the room. He looked at it. Janet kneeled down and unzipped the duffel. Most of the clothes were folded in rather neat piles that Janet took out of the bed and set on the floor with the clothes from the wardrobe. 

Some of them Kieren didn’t recognise. Rick must have bought them while he was away. Some of them he had seen him wear countless times, like that old checked shirt or those washed out jeans. The same clothes that Janet held in her hands for just a little bit longer. That she let out surprised little sounds at, as if she had forgotten about their existence and being reminded of it brought her some unexpected happiness. Kieren supposed, that that was exactly what he felt like as well. One of the shirts on the last stack Kieren recognised as his own. When he saw it, he immediately felt tears well up in his eyes. He must have accidentally left it at Rick’s house some day and instead of returning it had kept it.

“Well, I think it’s only fair if you take some of his shirts in return. Seeing as you’re one tee short.”

“No, I couldn’t” Kieren coaxed, the sheer idea of Rick secretly taking one of his shirts with him to remember him by had taken every last bit of remaining energy from him. He felt drained and yet so full. If only.

“Here,” Janet said, choosing a dark brown zip up hoodie from one of the piles of clothes, putting it in front of Kieren. “It might be a little big but I think the colour would suit you very well.” Unable to form something to say to her, something to let Janet know that he felt endlessly thankful, that he felt endlessly sad, Kieren took the hoodie, holding onto it with shaking hands. He could smell the warm scent of a forest in summer and the soft fresh scent of clean laundry.

\-----

Kieren offered to return and help packing up the rest of the house the next day but Janet declined, telling him that the movers were going to handle the rest on Friday. Kieren looked over his shoulder as she closed the door behind him. What he caught there was a woman much more closely resembling Janet Macy than a few hours before.

He made his way to the street and down the hill towards his own house. The sun had set and night had fallen over Roarton, turning it into nothing but a dark blue sea with eerily orange street lamps lining the snaking roads. The cardboard box in Kieren’s hand felt heavier than it should have.

His parents and sister listened in silence as Kieren explained where he had been. Of course, his mother had known from the call yet she was the first one to start crying when Kieren showed them the small box of keepsakes. They spent a lot of the night just talking. Reminiscing about the boy that had had a second home with them, a second family in the Walkers. They had all loved him.

Still, Kieren didn’t tell them about the letter. It didn’t feel right to have anyone else read it besides himself. It had been intended for him and no one else.

\-----

The next morning was just as grey and miserable as Roarton mornings always are. Low-hanging clouds mixed with the early morning fog, creating a thick sheen of ghostly white, turning buildings and trees and cars into mere apparitions.

Kieren walked through the mist, the cool droplets of water going unregistered by his skin, the crisp air indifferent to his non-existent breath. For weeks, he hadn’t left his room, let alone go outside. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but let a slight smile form on his face. Somewhere behind the clouds, there was a colourful sunrise, all orange and pink and yellow. But all that could be seen by the boy was a glowing white circle slowly rising against a canvas of grey. It was a beautiful morning to take a walk.

He only stopped once on his way at a stranger’s home to pick a flower. He used to pass them every morning when he would take his bike to school. Kieren could remember how sweet they could smell on a warm summer’s day. Now, they were damp from last night’s rain and not yet opened for the sunshine. He liked them anyways. 

Kieren took his time. There was no need to rush. He found himself watching the sky change from clouds to a soft blue, taking a detour through abandoned fields, letting his outstretched fingers collect dew from the long grass and from the weeds no one has bothered with for years.

After a while, the tall grass became shorter and a pathway formed underneath his feet. Closer and closer to his destination. He twisted the flower between his fingers, feeling something in his throat and chest that hadn’t been there for a while. A nervous heaviness or an excited flutter or something in between. Something that pulled at the corners of his mouth, unsure whether to form a frown or a smile, whether to cry or to laugh.

He was there. 

In front of him, there were trees, lush with leaves and some with blossoms and behind that a graveyard. Kieren felt his grip on the flower tighten as he approached the white cross. It shone brightly against the greenery, having only been there for a short time. Two months and four days, to be exact. The feeling in his chest became stronger, pulling at his heart. The closer he got the more vivid the memories became. He could see the brass tag that held his name. 

The air smelled of wet earth and rotting leaves, but the brown zip up hoodie smelled like trees and like fabric softener and like warmth and home and family.

There were only a few steps between them. 

Only a few steps between Kieren Walker and Rick Macy’s grave. 

Kieren decided to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this idea of writing a build-up to the s2e1 scene at rick's grave and kind of. i wanted to give my boy kier some closure. more than he got on the show. and also janet. poor janet. i hope she's okay now living in a new house with whatshisface? i know rick is smiling down at all of them. i miss him. i wish people (including dom, oops) would give him some more credit. he was a great son and a great friend, he just couldn't always be both at once even if he really really tried.


End file.
